


a lifetime (waiting for us)

by aulishe



Category: Ancient Greek Religion & Lore, The Iliad - Homer, The Song of Achilles - Madeline Miller
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Canonical Character Death, Childhood Friends, Heavy Angst, M/M, Mental Breakdown, Mutual Pining, Regret, Self-Doubt, Supportive Briseis
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-04
Updated: 2020-06-04
Packaged: 2021-03-04 00:53:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,441
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24514921
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aulishe/pseuds/aulishe
Summary: And, sometimes, Patroclus wondered if he had confessed his love to Achilles sooner; would he have lived the lifetime with Achilles that he dreamt of for so long?
Relationships: Achilles/Patroclus
Comments: 8
Kudos: 81





	a lifetime (waiting for us)

**Author's Note:**

> playlist: [songs to cry to while reading](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/61Fsl9GGpy5Qixc4QYWPWL?si=pxa0azJzSyGdwp6jPzBlJA)
> 
> enjoy reading! :]

_A compilation of Patroclus Menoitiades' most treasured moments._

**i.**

He was six when he met Achilles Pelides.

It was an odd name; though, definitely not much odder than his. Patroclus Menoitiades… or was it Menotades? He didn’t know. His surname awfully sounded like a disease, like malaria or something (he didn’t know if malaria was actually a disease—he just heard it from his father.)

He bet Achilles got teased for his name. That must be the only ugly thing about him.

Achilles is kind of tall, much definitely taller than him. His hair is bright, in contrast to his dark (bland) hair. His smile is very wide and his teeth were perfectly white. He was also amazing at hide and seek!

That was completely unfair to Patroclus!

Patroclus is as short as he can get. His hair has got be the most lifeless thing. His smile is awkward. His front teeth are too big! He was always found in a matter of seconds when he played hide and seek with the other kids! That was the only thing the other kids like about him—he sucks at hiding _and_ seeking, making life for the other kids easier!

Patroclus crosses his arms and frowns, suddenly upset at Achilles. Why do people like _Achilles_ exist when people like _him_ exist too? It was like the world was making fun of him!

Perfect Achilles—the son his father always wanted.

Then, there’s him.

Loser Patroclus—the son neither his father nor mother wanted.

He knew his parents didn’t want him. His father barely talked to him and his mother pretended he wasn’t there. But when they saw Achilles, they smiled so wide that Patroclus wasn’t sure if they were the same parents he knew. They never smiled at Patroclus. They just left him with the babysitter. They had no time for him. His father was busy with work and his mother was busy travelling.

But, when it came to Achilles, suddenly they had all the time in the world!

He hated it. He was _their_ son but they never treated him like it!

Achilles was perfect and he got everything he wanted.

Patroclus glares at the boy who was swinging through the monkey bars. See, he was even great at that! He could barely hold on to the monkey bars for ten seconds while Achilles swung through it like some sort of gymnast! Completely and undeniably (a new word he heard from his English class) unfair!

Patroclus angrily walks to the playground, not caring of the sand that seeped through his shoes. He stands in front of the monkey bars and glares at Achilles, his lips in an ugly pout and his arms crossed.

When Achilles notices him, he jumps off the monkey bars, startling Patroclus.

With a wide smile (that he hates so much!), Achilles greets him happily. “Hello, Patroclus!”

He even said his name perfectly! _Ugh._

“I hate you!”

The words that suddenly slips out of his mouth make Achilles tilt his head, like… like he was confused! Patroclus bet he barely knew the meaning of those words! It was probably never said to him anyways!

“What?”

With a sudden flush of embarrassment, Patroclus glares at Achilles and runs away from the playground.

So, what if Achilles was perfect? So, what if his parents liked him better than their own son? So, what if Achilles didn’t know what the words, _I hate you_ , meant when he heard it on a daily basis? _So what?_

Patroclus didn’t care. He hoped Achilles would injure himself while playing on the monkey bars because he _deserves_ it!

**ii.**

He was ten when he became friends with Achilles Pelides.

Patroclus still thought Achilles’ name was hideous. It certainly could be a name for a disease! A disease that would cover you in red spots and when you popped them, puss would come out (he’s been reading a lot of medical books—the ones for kids, the ones for adults was too confusing—and it was oddly fascinating)! Patroclus knew his name sounded weird too but Achilles’ sounded so much _weirder._

It was one thing that Patroclus beat Achilles in. Maybe, the _only_ thing.

He really didn’t know why Achilles kept telling him to be his friend when he had hundreds of awesome kids to choose from! He was a loser and Achilles was everything but that. He didn’t even know why Achilles still talked to him anyways—after what Patroclus said to him in the park (even if it was four years ago).

In those three years, he was forced to see Achilles more. His and Achilles’ families were getting closer and that meant more joint dinners! Patroclus absolutely hated it when Achilles came over. Achilles’ parents would proudly brag about their son while his parents barely even spoke to and about him. He also hates the looks of pity he would always get from Achilles’ parents! The most important thing, he hates Achilles! He was perfect and being perfect meant being insufferable (he also started reading dictionaries for fun now)! Achilles was the most insufferable of the insufferables!

But, in those four years, he supposes he got used to Achilles—his perfectness, his insufferableness, and his stubbornness. He doesn’t think that he hates Achilles as much as he did before. He could tolerate Achilles… only for a few minutes though. If he spent too much time with Achilles, he would probably say very mean words to him—mean words that Achilles deserved but still very mean words!

He learned that there are words, even if the person deserved it, you keep to yourself.

When he tried to ask his parents why they treated him like that, his mother just ignored him while his father spoke the meanest words.

He was undeserving. He was pathetic. He was a waste. He was a disappointment. He was _Patroclus—_

—and, in this world, no one in their sane minds would ever choose Patroclus over Achilles.

It hurt a _lot_ … even when he knew he deserved it. But those words came from his father. And… it just— _hurt_.

Patroclus wipes away the unnoticed tears that fell on his cheeks. Not only was he pathetic, he was also weak. He was everything but the son his father had always wanted: a big, strong boy that didn’t cry over silly (even though it was mean) words!

He wished he was Achilles.

“Patroclus?” and, of course, this was the time Achilles chose to invade his room! Patroclus looks up and sees Achilles, already seated comfortably on a bean bag across him. Arrogant.

“What?” he mutters in reply, his voice lacking energy, and his tone distracted. Achilles, immediately noticing Patroclus’ distress, leapt towards him and steadily put his hands on Patroclus’ shoulders.

Patroclus, snapped out of his reverie, stared at Achilles weirdly. “What are you doing?”

“Are you crying because of your parents again?” Achilles ignored his question and went to ask his, straight to the point, “I heard my parents talking about how your parents treat you. They’re very cruel.”

Patroclus agreed but, still, who was Achilles to say that as if he was experiencing their treatment first-hand?

“I know,” he replies instead, “I’m used to it.”

That only seemed to make Achilles more upset (why should he?) and his grip on his shoulders tightens.

“You shouldn’t,” Achilles forces out, “You shouldn’t get used to that! You… should be sad and crying and angry! Not like this!”

“I was,” Patroclus whispers, “But I got used to it. It’s very hard not to.”

“Well, you shouldn’t be used to it anymore,” Achilles says with a sudden determination. Patroclus frowns in confusion—he shouldn’t be used to his parents treating him the way he deserved to be treated because he was pathetic? That wasn’t very easy.

“Why?”

Achilles stares at him and grins widely, pulling Patroclus to his chest. Patroclus, in horror, tries to force himself out of the boy’s grip!

“Hey, what are you doing?” Patroclus angrily asked, “Let me go! You’re making me—”

“My mom said I’m a big boy now!” Patroclus stared dumbly at Achilles, even more confused by what Achilles said, “If I’m a big boy now, then that means I can protect you! And I’ll protect you from your parents!”

Patroclus blushed. He didn’t need protection! He was a big boy too! OK, maybe Achilles was still taller than him but he had grown too! Like… a little. But he still grew! Didn’t that count?

“That reminds me of something,” Achilles mutters, still loud enough for Patroclus to hear, “Oh! I remember now! I can be your knight-in-shining-armor and you can be my princess—never mind, prince. Then, your parents could be the bad dragons that breathes fire!”

 _Him_? A _prince_?

Achilles’ hands were loose on him now as he began to tell the tale of Sir Achilles and Prince Patroclus and the fire-breathing dragons. Patroclus takes that chance to slip away from Achilles’ grip.

“Stop that!” Achilles looks at him, confused at his sudden outburst, “You are _not_ a knight and I am _not_ a prince and my parents are _not_ dragons!”

“Might as well be,” Achilles mutters disdainfully, walking back to the bean bag, “Your parents really suck.”

And, though he would never admit this, he suddenly misses Achilles’ arms around him—

 _EW!_ That sounded so girly!

**iii.**

He was thirteen when he decided Achilles Pelides was too _good_ to be true.

He finally got over the silly, one-sided rivalry with Achilles. Patroclus decided that Achilles was a good friend and he cared for him, better than his parents ever did. But his name still sounded like a disease and that, he was sure he would never get over. He often teased Achilles about his name and that only resulted in heated arguments between the two which usually led to two-weeks (sometimes, three) avoidance and Patroclus quickly decides those weeks were the worst in his life.

But it seemed only his relationship with Achilles improved. His parents still treated him like absolute shit (Achilles taught him the beauty that is called cursing) and only Achilles was able to convince him that he did not _deserve_ to be treated like that. Achilles’ parents must’ve spoken to his parents as well, seeing as he barely saw them for dinner.

He missed them. Achilles, specifically.

The Pelides were in Europe for the summer; Mr. Pelides, or _Peleus_ as the man insists to call him, even tried to invite him to join them and, as much as he would’ve loved to, it was too imposing on them. He wouldn’t want to disturb their family-bonding time… even if that meant he had to have his. If glaring at each other is what you called family-bonding, that is.

He could bear his parents. Could he bear Achilles’ sudden absence?

Over the three years that has passed, Achilles always managed to visit him, never leaving a day off (even if he was injured or sick or both!). At first, he found it to be annoying. Achilles was clinging to him the way a remora fish clung unto a shark. Then, so sudden it happened, like a lightning flashing in the storm for the briefest of seconds, he found himself clinging to Achilles and the joy and warmth he brought with himself. He found himself eager for the hugs Achilles happily provided whenever he was crying over school or his parents. He found himself eager for Achilles’ visits. He found himself eager for _Achilles._

Achilles was a friend like no other and Patroclus decides he cannot bear the sudden absence of Achilles in his life—

Dear gods, he sounded like those girls in the rom coms his mother loved to watch; those girls who would cry over their boyfriends who left for, like, two minutes and a half.

He felt heat rising to his cheeks when he realized the oddity of his comparison of Achilles’ and his relationship with a girl and her boyfriend’s romantically involved one.

Phones existed, anyways. He could text Achilles any time he wanted to. Though, time zones were one thing to worry about.

Whatever. Achilles barely slept anyway, despite his rigid schedule (his parents had a lot of planned activities and hobbies for him).

Quickly pulling out a smartphone he barely used (he was the bookish type—Google did help though, whenever he couldn’t understand a term), Patroclus opens his phone and goes to Achilles’ contact, hoping the boy was not yet asleep. It was 2 PM in New York, right now.

 **To Achilles: Hi, how’s Europe _?_** _**[sent]**_

He hesitantly waits for a reply.

One _. Please let him reply._

Two _. Please let him be awake._

Three _. Maybe I should Google what time it is at Greece if they’re still there._

Four. _Maybe I should just let him sleep and not disturb him._

Five. _This is Achilles we’re talking about. He_ never _sleeps._

**From Achilles: greece is awesome, athens is amazing. we’re heading to paris next**

Faster than he expected.

Then again, this was Achilles he was talking about. He is always faster than anyone expects him to be.

**To Achilles: Cool! How are your lessons there? _[sent]_**

The Pelides go to a different country in Europe and stay there for a few weeks to entertain Achilles’ lessons. He thinks Achilles is learning how to play the lyre in Greece, his most adored musical instrument.

**From Achilles: it was pretty cool. the lyre is SO AWESOME i miss it**

**From Achilles: this is our last day in greece but i am kinda excited for my fencing lessons**

**From Achilles: oh and i kinda rly miss you too**

Patroclus smiles, his heart warming. He was glad he wasn’t the only one.

**To Achilles: Miss you as much _[sent]_**

**To Achilles: Did you buy me any souvenirs : > _[sent]_**

Achilles did promise him souvenirs, after all.

**From Achilles: ‘course i did**

**From Achilles: bought you loads of books that u always read, y’know, those medicine and surgery shits**

Patroclus rolled his eyes.

Achilles never really did appreciate the beauty of medicine and the abstract art of surgery. Though, he had to admit, it was quite odd for a thirteen-year-old like him to be so drawn in subjects like those. His father never approved, wishing him to read books on politics instead.

**To Achilles: Haha, very funny _[sent]_**

**To Achilles: What time is it there? _[sent]_**

He hoped it wasn’t too late there in Greece.

**From Achilles: 9 am, just woke up actually**

**From Achilles: how are you there?**

He just woke up. He was just about to start his day then.

**To Achilles: Eh, it’s boring here honestly _[sent]_**

Without Achilles, anything could be boring.

Actually, no, he didn’t think he could ever be bored of his medicinal and surgical books. He adored them with a passion.

**From Achilles: you should’ve come along with us**

**From Achilles: dad didn’t mind, he even offered u to come**

**From Achilles: now, thanks to YOU, ur there alone, wallowing, with ur ASSHOLE parents**

He may like Achilles now but, dear gods, that did not make him less annoying.

In fact, he even became more annoying.

**To Achilles: Blaming it all on the traumatized kid, I see _[sent]_**

**To Achilles: You are so mean :( _[sent]_**

The pouty face should guilt-trip Achilles. He always fell for those.

**From Achilles: tsk, ur pouty faces aren’t working this time**

**From Achilles: but my point still stands, you should have come along**

**From Achilles: anyways i’ll call u later, k? last day of lyre class**

_He’ll call._

Patroclus felt the smile, that has already graced his lips, widen. He hoped Achilles’ class won’t take too long. He was quite excited to hear Achilles’ voice again!

Huh, he has been gone for how many weeks now and yet only now did they communicate with each other.

**To Achilles: OK. See you. Take care :) _[sent]_**

And the hours would soon be too long before Achilles called once more…

**From Achilles: u too.**

Patroclus let out a sigh, setting his phone on the bed as he saw no use for it anymore. He knew he didn’t act the way most teenagers did—glued to their gadgets. Instead, he preferred his books. Even Achilles commented on his odd behavior. But he really didn’t have to meet the expectations of being a typical teenager, right? It’s not like he met anyone’s expectations for him, honestly.

Maybe, the reason for his dislike of gadgets was the fact that his parents were completely immersed in them—his father used gadgets to promote his party’s propaganda and his mother loved her high-tech TV to watch her melodramas. He didn’t want to become like them.

He would rather die than watch himself turn to a monster.

With the slump of his shoulders, Patroclus forced himself to walk outside, stretch his tensioned muscles, feel the sunlight on his face—oh, who was he kdding? There was no joy at all. There was no joy without Achilles (Patroclus from three years ago would murder him for even thinking about this). Gods, he missed Achilles.

That boy better call soon.

**iv.**

He was seventeen when he _~~accidentally~~_ kissed Achilles Pelides.

Patroclus spent all his time reading, except when Achilles visited. He read, read, read and read, almost to the point he barely slept. With all the time he provided to read and learn, how the _hell_ is he still flunking in school? Hell, he would make a better essay on why Achilles Pelides is the silliest name ever and could be made into a name for a disease rather than write about any of Shakespeare’s works. They were adorably and tragically poetic but it never really did catch his interest. He read it for his grades’ sakes which still _flunked._ He must be the flunker of the century! He, honestly, should receive an award for all the shit he put up through.

No one else could flunk like him and most definitely not Achilles (who he, perhaps, have been avoiding for the past few weeks). Though, Briseis, or _Brie_ as she preferred to be called, could almost reach his level, his mastery of the art of flunking. Flunk. Flunk. Flunk.

Add that to his father’s list of his flaws.

See, he doesn’t flunk in school and his studies. He also flunked at being a _friend_.

A friend. How could anyone fail at that?

Well, he was _Patroclus Menoitiades_ , master of the art of flunking and failing. Hm, maybe he should even set up his own school. Make money in his own terms.

Patroclus Menoitiades School for Flunking and Failing.

Screw that. His father would never allow him to use the family name.

Patroclus Chironides School for Flunking and Failing.

Perfect. Of course, credits to the borrowed surname of his favorite science teacher.

Patroclus groaned, burying his head in his hands, as he rummaged through the failure that is called his life. Why must he be such a failure? Couldn’t he _not_ fail at something?

“Gosh, Pat, your teenager angsty years are surely starting,” Brie spoke right next to him, propped on her elbows while she watched on his television, “Just talk to him, Pat. You kissed, yeah, but that’s all that it is. A kiss. An accident,” and Patroclus tried not to flinch at how much he wanted to deny that, no, it was not an accident. He dramatically laid beside Brie, his back hitting the bed with his hands still covering his face. “And, even if it wasn’t, we all know Achilles. Jesus, that guy would do anything for you.”

He was glad he was covering his face still. Brie surely would have teased him for the heat spreading across his face like a wildfire.

“And you’re definitely not the only one being angsty here,” Brie says with an amused scoff, “Ajax whined to me about how much this silent treatment was affecting Achilles. He’s apparently getting distracted as their star player. Always losing the ball and whatnot.”

“How’d you even ‘accidentally’ kiss him, anyways?” Brie asked, rising a flurry of panic in Patroclus’ chest, “Like, what? How did it happen? Were you, like, on his lap while reading your nerd books or were you like leaning close to his—”

Patroclus immediately sat upright, his hands flailing around as he did so. “Brie, can you _not_? You are definitely not helping me overcome my teenager angsty years! You’re just… doubling it!”

Brie lets out an affronted grunt and hits Patroclus on the head with her hand. “Don’t you dare, Pat. I’ve been the one listening to your whining about your boyfriend the whole day!”

The blush that rose to his cheeks was impossible to avoid.

Once Brie caught sight of the heating of his cheeks, a smirk graced her features.

Patroclus spluttered for a response.

“Hey, you were the one who forced yourself in my house!” he yelled defensively, “No one’s forcing you to listen about my whining about my boy—he is _not_ my boyfriend!”

Brie simply amused herself with the crimson flush spreading through his face like a rash. She bit back a laugh and tried to keep her face straight.

“If he isn’t your lover,” Patroclus gagged at the term Brie used, “Then please explain why you are so red right now. Fuckin’ hell, man! You look like a tomato! The _ripest_ of ripe tomatoes!”

Patroclus willed himself to stop the flushing of his cheeks.

“Come on, Patty boy,” he cringed even further at her use of his name, “Tell me why Achie is making you blush like hell.”

He raised a brow at Brie, “Achie?”

“Oh, come on, that guy’s name is impossible for me to make good nicknames,” Patroclus stopped himself from blurting out nicknames he has already called Achilles, “Now, speak up, you goat.”

“His name is quite hideous, that I agree with,” Patroclus commented, raising an even more amused grin out of Brie, “And… ugh—who am I even trying to kid? You already know why I was blushing like my face was dipped in hell.”

Brie merely raised a brow. “Nope, actually, I do not,” she sing-sung, “Now, elaborate your statement, Patsey.”

“Hell, Brie, stop calling me those terrible nicknames,” Patroclus glowered, “Or I won’t elaborate at all.”

“I’ll call you what I want to call you,” Brie snapped.

There was no winning this one.

Patroclus sighed in defeat, rolling his eyes playfully at Briseis. “Achilles is… Achilles,” he started, “He’s, well, as perfect as one can be. Athletic, smart, and all that. I—well, I’m not really the special sort. And Achilles is and, out of all the people he could have chosen to be friends with, he chose _me_ and no one really ever did. No one ever chose me, not even my parents.”

Brie’s face hardened at the mention of Patroclus’ parents. She gave a sympathetic, albeit hesitant, smile to Patroclus, her hand wrapping around his shoulders, as she tries to offer him comfort.

Patroclus leans in, his head wresting on her shoulders. “No one ever chooses me, not our schoolmates, not our teachers, not my parents,” Brie pretends she doesn’t notice the tear that slipped from Patroclus’ eye. She knew how much the boy hated to be caught in such a vulnerable moment. “Only Achilles chooses me,” this time, Patroclus cries freely. Tears fall from his eyes like waterfall and he lets out uncontrollable sobs, his breathing heavy. Brie pulls him in a hug, her head leaning against the top of his.

She rubs circles on Patroclus’ back to try to soothe him.

“Only Achilles,” he repeats, sniffing, “Only Achilles.”

Brie sees the depth of the two’s love for each other, may it be platonic or romantic. Achilles provided Patroclus comfort and stability in his life, offering every bit of love he could pour into the boy’s life. While Patroclus, in turn, provided Achilles the freedom he sought in his caged life, letting himself run wild and free with Achilles. They were the perfect balance. They _balanced_ each other, like yin and yang.

When the concept of their relationship is finally comprehended by her mind, Brie lets out a little _oh._

Whatever they felt for each other—storge, philia, eros, or agape—it did _not_ matter; because, whatever they felt for each other, it was _powerful._ It was enough for Patroclus and Achilles. They did not need to declare their love for one another in words for it was already declared in actions.

“What if he hates me for what I did?” Patroclus whispers, his sobs dying down, “What if—”

Brie shakes her head firmly. “No,” she says, “Achilles could never hate you. You could murder a man and he would still accept you with open arms. Just talk to him, Pat. He’ll listen.”

The words seem to gravitate in Patroclus’ mind.

“He always does,” she adds.

Patroclus remained in the embrace, gripping tightly onto Brie, before he carefully slipped out of Brie’s arms. He wipes his tear-stricken face with an embarrassed smile.

“Thanks, Brie,” he says gratefully, “I needed to hear that.”

“No probs, Patsey,” to which Patroclus groaned, “You really did need to hear that. Goodness, you and Achilles are a pair of drama queens. One is brooding in his room and one is fucking up his game and all of those for a kiss.”

Patroclus rolls his eyes fondly and playfully hits Brie with a pillow. “Achilles was always there for me,” he whispers but Brie catches it, “ _Is_ always there for me. Even when we were just kids. He was always there. Always waiting for me. Always talking to me. Always playing with me.”

He could feel tears brimming in his eyes once more, one blink and a sudden shower of emotion-driven tears. He did not need another crying session, thank you very much. One was already embarrassing enough.

“Always,” he clears his throat, “I don’t think I deserve him, Brie.”

Brie hits his head, to which Patroclus yelps at. “Don’t be stupid, Pat,” she says straightforwardly, though not unkindly, “Achilles needs you as much as you need him. I swear, if you continue to say things like those, I will drag you to Achilles myself.”

Fate was a funny thing, apparently.

“No need to,” the door opened, shocking Patroclus and Brie from their conversation, and it revealed Achilles, his eyes drawn to only Patroclus, like a magnet is drawn too metal, “I’m here.”

Brie smirks. “Finally,” she mutters, “I don’t know how much I could handle Patsey’s brooding any longer.”

Patroclus glares at her for that. Brie ignores it.

She stands up from the bed and heads towards the door. She puts a hand to Achilles’ shoulder, her glare threatening. “You two better talk this out and not run away again like idiots,” she harshly says to Achilles.

Achilles gulps and hesitantly nods. Brie seems satisfied as she sauntered out of the room, leaving Achilles and Patroclus be.

Patroclus felt warmth seep in his chest at the mere sight of his best friend. He shyly smiles at Achilles and pats down a place in his bed, urging Achilles to sit beside him.

Like lightning, Achilles hurries towards him and, without hesitance, pulls him into an embrace, wrapping his arms around Patroclus. He could feel Achilles breathing in his scent as if he smelled of ambrosia. He blushes and buries his head on Achilles’s chest.

They held on to each other, with no words spoken, as if the world outside was ravaged by fire, as if they were their only safe space.

Jesus Christ, Brie was right: they _are_ dramatic.

But Patroclus knew he would never exchange their drama for anything else. He would never exchange Achilles for anything else.

“Patroclus,” and the way Achilles has said his name sent shivers down his spine. He says it with unneeded precision, uttering the syllables carefully and with grace. His parents spit his name out like a curse, his classmates prefer _Pat_ but not Achilles. Achilles preferred the real thing; _him._

“Achilles,” he whispers with the same breathlessness, “I… I’m sorry. I shouldn’t’ve, well, _kissed_ you and avoided you like you were a disease. I love you, Achilles, in the most treasured way, like a brother loves his brother. I missed you so much.”

Granted, it was only for a few weeks that he avoided Achilles but that didn’t mean he missed him any less.

“I missed you more,” Achilles says, planting a soft kiss on Patroclus’ forehead and rests his own on top of Patroclus’ head, “And… don’t apologize for it. Honestly, don’t apologize for anything. I’ll probably even love you more still.”

Patroclus scoffs, “Now, that’s just silly.”

“Probably,” Achilles agrees.

They stay in each others’ arms for longer than they should have, bathing in the warmth and solace they provided for each other. Achilles breathes him in, his chin atop Patroclus’ crown of hair. Patroclus soaks himself in Achilles’ scent and he smells of the beautiful Earth, the fauna and flora, the woods hidden in forests and the rivers that flow gently.

When Patroclus looks up, he notices that it is nighttime. He gasped. How long were they hugging? He swore it was still afternoon when Achilles arrived.

“’Chilles,” Patroclus murmurs, sliding out of Achilles’ arms, “It’s night.”

Achilles frowns at the sudden loss of warmth but replies anyways. “Yeah, I noticed.”

“How long were we…” Patroclus tries to conceal his blush, “…erm, hugging?”

“I don’t know,” Achilles answers, “I enjoyed it though. We should hug more often.”

That did not help in his fruitless attempt of concealing his blush.

“Yeah, it was… uhm, very fun,” and that sounded better in his head, “Are you going back now?”

Achilles looks at him incredulously. “Of course, not,” Patroclus blushes at the firmness of his tone, “What, you avoid me for weeks and now that we’ve finally reconciled, you expect me to leave that soon? Nope, I don’t think so, Patroclus.”

There he goes again, pronouncing his name like nectar dripping off his tongue.

“D’you wanna go to that new burger place?”

“It’s late now, though,” says Patroclus, “My parents might catch us sneaking out. After _Car Day_ , they forbid me from going out past nighttime.”

“So?”

Patroclus smiles at Achilles and agrees almost immediately.

“Okay, let’s go.”

Achilles is the first to stand up and Patroclus follows, his heart drumming against his chest.

Achilles turns to look at him, “You have an exit in the kitchen, right?”

Patroclus realizes, at that very moment, Achilles could ask him to follow him into war and he, without any doubts creeping upon his heart, would agree.

He would follow Achilles to the end of the world or to a war or to the flood.

He would always follow Achilles.

**v.**

He was twenty-one when he realized he was in love with Achilles Pelides.

Patroclus was aware of the crush he was harboring for Achilles during their high school years. But everyone did. Even Brie admitted to being attracted to Achilles. He couldn’t blame her. Achilles is taller (far too tall, in his opinion), his blond hair that rested against his shoulder looked like they came from the sun itself, his well-built body (all those times he spent in the gym _actually_ paid off), and he exuded a powerful and dominant energy. He was otherworldly, ethereal, and all the synonyms listed for those words. Though, and Patroclus would never get over this, his name still sounded like a disease. The more he said it, the more he thought it hideous.

But that didn’t make Achilles less in his eyes.

At times, he would look at Achilles and wonder _how could a man, such as he, exist?_ He didn’t say it with spite as he did so in his younger years. He said with tenderness and endearment because, really, how could a man like Achilles exist? And how could a man like Achilles withstand to be around with a man like Patroclus, like _him._ He is short and awkward and lacking in many aspects and just _not_ enough. How could Achilles ever want to be his friend?

Patroclus frowns. This was not the time to question their thirteen years (yes, he _counted_ ) of friendship. After all they’ve been through… it just—it wasn’t the right time. Achilles never did him any wrong, not even if he deserved it.

Even if he could, he wouldn’t do any wrong to Achilles either.

They were studying in a university now. They were taking the next step to life.

He admitted he preferred the university to high school. In high school, they were forced to learn about Shakespeare (how he detested him) and Plato (detested him even more) and general, useless things they probably would never use. In the university, you were free to choose what your heart set to. He majored in Human Physiology and Biochemistry, minored in English (ironic, he knows). Achilles majored in Business Management and minored in Music Theory and Composition. They wanted to share a dorm room but Peleus warned them about the dangers of sharing a dorm room with your best friend—

—thing is, he doesn’t see Achilles as his best friend anymore. He doesn’t see Achilles as the kid he met when he was six or the kid he became friends with when he was ten or the kid he ~~accidentally~~ kissed when he was seventeen.

He sees Achilles as his salvation (however dramatic it might’ve sound), rescuing him from the grasps of his parents, from the choking hold of the world. Achilles set him free from himself, from his doubts, from his insecurities. Achilles set him _free._

And he always felt free whenever he was with Achilles; whether they were stuck in his room, jamming to 80s music or sneaking out the window and heading to their favorite ice cream parlor or laying on the grass as he listened to Achilles tell the myths of every constellation splattered in the night sky—every moment he spent with Achilles, from when they were kids to where they are now, holds a special place in his heart. Moments with Achilles were unforgettable and untouchable. They were like a sculpture you would gawk at in a museum. They were breathtaking.

His Achilles… so kind, so sweet, so brave.

Patroclus, no matter how much Achilles denied this, did not, in any means, deserve Achilles Pelides. He knew that from the very beginning: Achilles would always be the Perfect Achilles he saw when he was a kid and he would always remain as the Loser Patroclus his parents saw. They were of different worlds yet… they clung to each other like they depended on it. There was barely a second where they spent their time outside of each other’s company. It even became a saying.

Where Patroclus is, Achilles goes.

Where Achilles is, Patroclus goes.

Unfortunately, the university life got in the way of their plans.

Though they were already in their fourth year of university, they were still (somehow) struggling to balance the heavy workload assigned by their professors and extracurricular activities they had to partake in for better internship offers. He did enjoy the occasional parties though.

They were both busy and they didn’t have the time to just… hang around like they used to.

Patroclus’ head is always stuck in a book, no matter where he went, and Achilles joined a band. He used to always visit Achilles’ performances and practices but the university life was very demanding. He couldn’t even make some time for himself anymore.

He missed Achilles.

He missed the comfort his presence brought whenever he visited or when they hung out. He missed the way Achilles would always compliment his outfit, even if he were in turtle pajamas. He missed the way Achilles would always drag him to new places and new experiences. Fuck, he missed _Achilles._

Patroclus always thought a life in the university together would bring them even closer but, really, it only tore them apart from each other.

He grimaced at how clingy he sounded. Christ, Deiphobus was right. He was _way_ too clingy.

They still spent time with each other… just not on a daily basis. Achilles visited sometimes and they went out sometimes; whatever they could manage.

Patroclus missed him.

Luckily, today was their last day before Spring Break. Maybe he could contact Achilles and see if he were available (and God only knew how much he wished Achilles was). He fished his phone from his pocket and dialed on Achilles’ number.

The ringer went on for a few seconds before Achilles answered.

Achilles was always faster than anyone expected, even Patroclus.

“Hey, Patroclus!”

The voice that comforted him through his darkest nights, that brought wide smiles to his lips, that brought butterflies in his stomach, that brought warmth in his chest—Achilles’ _voice_.

He missed it more than he could comprehend.

“Hi,” he replied meekly, “I was wondering if you were free today…? You know, maybe we could hang out or someth—”

“You know what, Patroclus?”

He almost sighed dreamily at how deep Achilles’ voice was. He has definitely _grown._

“What?” and he cringed at how squeaky his voice was compared to Achilles’s. _I sound like a fucking toddler, I swear._

“You just read my mind,” and, with that, Achilles hung up.

Patroclus stared at his phone screen in confusion.

_Read his mi—_

A knock was heard through the small space of his dorm.

 _Oh._ That’s what he meant.

Patroclus rushed to the door and clumsily opened it, a blush already bearing his cheeks.

At least, before, he blushed for a reason. Now, he just… _blushed._

Though, he was sure nothing could’ve ever prepared him from the sight he was about to face.

Achilles stood in all his 6’3 glory (and, though Patroclus was close to his height, he still had to lift his head to stare at Achilles directly). He was shirtless (that, Patroclus was certain), showing off his _~~sweaty and hot washboard abs~~_ well-exercised body. His hair was tied in a man bun, messy strays of hair framing his face. The muscles in his arms flexing as he drank water right in _front_ of Patroclus.

He was sure the heat wasn’t _just_ pooling on his cheeks.

Fuck.

Achilles threw the water bottle to the nearest trash can and, as to be expected, his aim was meticulous. He wiped the droplets of water from his mouth and Patroclus gulped.

“Patroclus,” Achilles doesn’t wait for a reply and invites himself in, his body brushing against Patroclus’ before he walked to the bed, already making himself comfortable, “You and I must be telepathically connected. Before you called, I was literally on my way here.”

After closing the door, Patroclus cleared his throat and hesitantly laid beside Achilles whose arms automatically wrapped themselves around him.

“Mhm, probably,” Patroclus tried his hardest to pluck his eyes away from the sight of Achilles’ shirtless chest (and to be so close to it), “I—It’s… or it, uh, could probably be because we barely hung out the whole week.”

Achilles seemed to agree with that. “Hm, must be,” he hummed, “But I still prefer the telepathy theory.”

Patroclus rolls his eyes and tries his hardest to restrain himself from breathing in Achilles’ scent. Sweaty, yes, but still the earthly scent he was used to. Still Achilles.

“So,” Patroclus starts, his hands playing with his sweatpants’ strings, “What are your plans for spring break?’

“Actually, about _that_ ,” Patroclus now lays on his sides, facing Achilles as he anticipated for an answer, “I wanted to spend it with you since we barely hang out anymore. We could go back to New York or even visit Japan or something…”

Patroclus would’ve loved to do all of that with Achilles. “I’m sensing a _but_ here,” he commented.

“ _But_ ,” Achilles clenches his jaw, “Mom’s forcing me to visit her and I’m pretty sure you and Mom have this weird, hate-hate relationship thing going on.”

He wouldn’t be spending time with Achilles. The thought of that _hurt._

He tried not to curse at Thetis, Achilles’ mom, who, for some reason, detested him.

“Yeah, we do,” muttered Patroclus, “Well, I mean, I could bear her presence and her insults. Nothing I’ve never heard.”

Achilles frowns at that and pulls Patroclus closer to his chest (who tries to resist as subtly as possible). “You’d be willing to do that for me? I know my mother… she’s, well, a force to be reckoned with.”

Patroclus looks away bashfully. “Yeah, well, I’d be willing to do anything for _you_ ,” he murmurs, staring at the ceiling, “Anyways, I’ve dealt with worse things before. Your mother is definitely on the Top 10 list though.”

Achilles lets out a laugh and Patroclus can’t help but marvel at how wonderful his laugh sounds—melodic and mellifluous.

It was like music in his ears, perhaps better than that.

“Nah, switch it up to Top 3,” and this time, it’s Patroclus who bursts into laughter, “I remember when you first met her and she pointed out your acne scars on your _chest._ You literally cried after that.”

“She spoke about it like it was a curse,” Patroclus splutters out as he tried to defend what’s left of his dignity, “Of course, I’d cry! I was, like, fourteen that time!”

But Achilles was too busy wiping the fake tears from his eyes and Patroclus waited for his laughter to die down (because it is still such a pleasure to listen to).

“’Course you were fourteen that time,” Achilles snorts, “But, be honest with me, are you really willing to face my mother?”

Patroclus turned to face him and blushed at the intensity of their shared gazes (at least, he blushed for a _reason_ now).

“For you,” Patroclus rephrases his statement earlier and wishes he hadn’t instead, “I’d be willing to do anything,”

It sounded too cheesy in his ears.

Achilles’ eyes turned glassy and pulls Patroclus into an embrace who doesn’t try to resist anymore.

“Me too, Patroclus,” Achilles whispered in his ear, “I would do _anything_ , absolutely anything, if you asked me. You could ask me drop out of college and run away to the woods with you; I would, with no hesitation. You could ask me to murder a man and I still probably would. Anything, Patroclus, anything.”

_If I asked you to love me, would you?_

Patroclus shut that thought off. It was silly to think of.

He already knew Achilles loved him—just not in the way he desired to be loved. But, he knew, that the love he and Achilles share is far stronger than anything else. Far stronger than the kisses Patroclus wants to share with him, far stronger than his desire to cuddle close to Achilles every night, far stronger than any wish he could ever wish to have—his and Achilles love for each other, whether it was platonic or romantic did not matter, was the strongest and he… he wasn’t gonna waste what they already have for something they could easily lose.

“Me too, ‘Chilles,” he mutters, “You could ask me anything and I’d do it.”

_But I could never stop loving you, even if you asked me too._

**vi.**

He was twenty-seven when he lost Achilles Pelides to a woman, much, much more beautiful than he would ever be.

Achilles finished business school while he was just starting his residency.

Life just started for him and Achilles already jumped to the second step. Marriage—to a woman who would share his hideous name.

He should have expected that. Of course, Achilles would marry and, of course, it would be to a woman. What he dreamt of was just a part of the fictional world he built for him and Achilles. What even convinced him to continue hoping that, maybe, Achilles loved him too?

 _Maybe, when he asked you move in with him_ , a part of his mind snickered.

Achilles freshy graduated out of business school while he was still completing his years in med school. Out of the blue, Achilles asked Patroclus to move in with him and, _oh_ , the way Patroclus’ heart pounded; he was sure Achilles could hear it too—

—but, that was years ago. Achilles is getting married now and he moved out.

_Definitely not moved on though._

He cursed at himself. He shouldn’t be thinking about this right now—not when Achilles is about to get married.

His heart clenched.

“Patroclus!” Achilles called out from the other room. He was preparing for the wedding.

Patroclus rushed to the other room and was left breathless by the sight of Achilles in a suit.

Handsome, he was. Much more handsome than any human should ever be.

“’Chilles,” he says, stepping closer to him, “You look dashing.”

His tone is formal and it doesn’t sound like him at all. Achilles must’ve noticed but brushes it away—why would he let his loser best friend ruin his day?

Now, he was just hurting himself.

“I know,” Achilles smiles, “I should because I _am_ the groom but thanks.”

He reluctantly lets out a tiny, awkward smile. “Welcome.”

Silence looms over them.

Patroclus is close to whimpering because they have _never_ caught themselves struggling to speak to one another. The words just spilled out of their mouth but now… now it seems like there isn’t even anything to say anymore.

_Why are you letting your friendship—of thirty-one years—get toppled over by a girl?_

The girl. The _bride._

“I saw Deidamia today,” Patroclus hesitantly says, his words slow and careful, “She’s beautiful.”

Achilles grins though it seemed force. “Yeah, cool.”

Patroclus brushes off Achilles’ awkward and stiff reply and tries not to dwell on it.

Achilles is never awkward with anyone, less alone _him._

Silence dawns over them once more and they simply stare at everything that is _not_ each other.

_What happened to you two?_

“Patroclus—”

“Achilles—”

It’s only an irony that they gather the courage at the same second. Patroclus gestures Achilles to start first.

“I know this doesn’t seem like the time to tell you this,” Achilles starts, fiddling with his tuxedo’s sleeves, “But before all of this, before my mother introduced me to Deidamia, before _you_ moved out—”

Achilles was hurt. Hurt over what he did.

_Of course, he is._

Patroclus wanted to pull him into an embrace.

His arms reach out to Achilles but slowly fall back to his sides. He looks down, trying to forget the look on Achilles’ face.

His face conveyed his emotions so perfectly that Patroclus wished he were imagining it.

“—before I inherited the family business, before all this _shit_ ,” he refers to the stumbling of their friendship and Patroclus only agrees, “I… Patroclus, I—You were the only one I cared for. I cared for my father and mother, yes, I did but you… You were special to me. _Are_ special to me.”

Patroclus doesn’t know where Achilles is going.

“You will always be,” and he says that in a whisper, like a secret, “Before all _this_ , I loved you, Patroclus. _You._ I loved _you_ first.”

_Dun. Dun. Dun. Dun. Dun. Dun._

The sound of his heart rapidly beating against his chest was too loud. Too loud. Too much.

His breathing is labored and tears are pooling in his eyes.

_Achilles loved me?_

_Loved._

Past tense. In the past. Passed.

_Fuck._

“Me?”

His voice is weak and tired.

Achilles _cannot_ tell this to him on _his_ wedding day.

That was… that was cruel. Unfair.

He cannot.

_Please, dear fate, do not let him._

He does.

“Yes, god, yes, Patroclus,” Achilles says it like he’s running out of breath, like this is his only chance to speak, “You… you were all over my mind. You were all over me. Christ, all I could think about was you. All the things I could do to you if _I_ simply just said—”

Achilles stops, noticing he was straying off the topic.

Patroclus feels his heart tearing into a thousand pieces and tears are brimming in his eyes. He feels numb, stuck in his position as he tries to comprehend what Achilles said to him.

After all those times, after all those times he wished he could say what he felt, Achilles was wishing it too? Achilles was wishing to kiss him as he wished to kiss Achilles. Achilles was wishing to pour his love to him as he wished he did. He—

— _he wished along with me?_

So, if… if Patroclus did confess earlier, they—this wouldn’t be happening? Would they had ran off to the woods, away from society, from _his_ parents? Would they had adopted puppies, kittens, turtles and all that they adored? Would they be?

_You know, they would._

Patroclus wanted to curl up into a ball.

_This was too cruel of fate._

He shakily looks up to Achilles, whose cheeks are painted with colorless tears, and that breaks the dam in his eyes. Tears fall from his eyes and he lets out uncontrollable sobs.

He collapses on the floor.

Achilles kneels down and embraces Patroclus, letting out silent sobs as he plants plentiful of kisses on Patroclus’ head.

“A-achilles,” Patroclus forces out, his voice shaky, “I—I loved, _love_ , you too. Ever since we were sixteen. Ever since, Achilles. I have loved you ever since.”

Achilles tries to muffle his sobs, his body shaking.

“I—you,” Achilles struggles with his words, “You c-could’ve been mine.”

“I could’ve been yours,” Patroclus manages to respond in midst of his sobs, “I—I could have been _yours. You_ could have been mine _.”_

An unspoken _but we are not either_ hung between them.

Patroclus sniffs, remembering all the times he tried to confess his love for Achilles when he and Achilles would just lay down under the blanket of the night, when they would stay in each other’s arms far too long—when he and Achilles loved each other wordlessly. That… that was gone now. Now, he was gonna witness his only love get married to another one. He was gonna witness his only love be in the arms of another. He was gonna witness his only love loving someone else.

And… and what stings the most is _they could have been._

But they did not and they never will.

They did not but they could have.

Patroclus does not have the power to muffle his sobs anymore, they echo through the room and they echo the pain that throbs in his chest.

“Yeah, we could have,” Patroclus hears the bitterness in his tone. He leans into Achilles and _shakes_.

They could have been Achilles and Patroclus. They could have been holding on to each other until the end of time. They could have been kissing under the sunlight. They could have been resting in each other’s embrace every day. They could have been what he has dreamt them to be, wished them to be. They could have been what he wanted (and still do) them to be for the longest of time—loving each other freely, no walls between each other, just acts of affection and whispers of endearment between themselves. They could have… they could have been _so_ many things but they did not and only because they were too cowardly to take the chance.

“But we did not,” says Achilles, releasing himself from their tight hold onto each other, “I’m getting married, Patroclus. We’re too late.”

Reality slams itself back into Patroclus’ life.

Achilles was getting married. No stopping that.

“… unless you want to run away to the woods with me?” Achilles asks jokingly but Patroclus knew he meant every word.

He wanted to say _yes._ Scream _yes._ Jump into Achilles’ arms and yell _yes._

But he can’t.

“Deidamia doesn’t deserve that,” he says weakly, “And your mother’s dying wish was for you two to marry. I can’t ruin that for her.”

Achilles smiles softly and cups Patroclus’ face, staring at it like it was the most precious thing he has ever seen.

“In another life,” and Patroclus could feel his shattered heart already breaking into tinier pieces, “In another life, we chose other.”

Achilles breaks away from him when the door bursts open. They both stand up, wiping fresh tears from their cheeks, flatting down ruffles in their tuxedos, and faced Peleus.

If Peleus was suspicious, he did not show it. Instead, he pulls his boy into a hug and pats his back.

“Son,” Peleus says proudly, “It is time.”

Everything fades into a faint memory after that.

The flower girls showering the aisle with flower petals… Deidamia walking in a beautiful white dress in the aisle… The priest talking of love and commitment … The vows exchanged with each other… Achilles lifting Deidamia’s veil… A kiss and the sound of a broken heart. His memories of the wedding are faded and faint, each dwindling within each other. What he remembers so clearly though was when he gave his speech at the reception as Achilles’ best man.

When his name is called by the host, Patroclus hesitantly walks to the stage and tries to avoid Achilles’ eyes.

The silence spoke volumes.

“I remember,” he starts, “We were just kids. Achilles was playing with monkey bars and I kept glaring at him. The six-year-old me thought Achilles to be _too_ perfect. I think I even said I hated him.”

He gets laughter from the crowd and forced himself to smile.

“I never wanted to become Achilles’ friend,” he continues his speech, still avoiding Achilles’ vivid gaze, “He was annoying, loud, pretentious, obnoxious, and also—”

Achilles cuts in. “Yeah, yeah, I think we got it,” he jokes, “You _hated_ me. Please proceed to the time you liked me. You’re giving me a bad reputation in front of my in-laws.”

Another laugh. Another forced smile.

“Well, we soon became friends because Achilles wouldn’t give up,” this time, he forces himself to meet Achilles’ eyes, “He kept pestering. Pretty sure that’s how he got the hand of that beautiful lady besides him.”

Deidamia smiled at him but he paid no mind.

“He’s an amazing friend,” Achilles smiles at that, “He’s more than I could have ever wished for. I’m grateful for that and I’m happy that Deidamia will too. You two are amazing together. I can’t wait for the little babies of them crawling around their house!”

When the crowd coos, Deidamia blushes while Achilles merely keeps his gaze.

“I wish you both the happiest life,” _because Achilles and I couldn’t get it._

Everything blurs after that and all he remembers is wanting to get away.

**vii.**

He was thirty-three when he met Achilles Pelides’ son.

After the wedding, Patroclus only stayed in D.C. to complete his residency. Once he did, he packed his bags and moved to France; far, far away from Achilles.

Now, six years have passed and he’s back in New York yet Achilles still looks like the man he fell in love with years ago. His face is hardened and his hair is short now but, somehow, he looks the same to Patroclus. The very same.

In his eyes, he still looked like _his_ Achilles.

Of course, he couldn’t ignore the little bundle of joy standing beside Achilles.

Neoptolemus Pelides. Even more hideous than Achilles’ name.

He is a redhead (which is a bit of a shock—he always expected that their child would inherit Achilles’ golden hair or Deidamia’s dark locks). He is loud like Achilles yet he holds the grace of his mother. He reminds Patroclus of a wild firefly.

He is perfect. Just like his father.

Patroclus squats down to Neo’s (he has already nicknamed him) level and smiles at him.

“Hello,” he says.

Neo, unlike other children who would hide behind their parents at the sight of a stranger, widely grins at Patroclus and, to his shock, his little arms envelop him.

He can hear Achilles chuckle in the back. “He’s a bit of a hugger,” he states.

“I think I know where he got that from,” Patroclus jokes, to which Achilles fondly smiles at.

Neo lets go of him. “Hello, there!” his voice is adorably tiny that Patroclus almost cooed, “I’m Nee Ped! You are?”

Patroclus raises his eyebrows curiously but answers anyway. “I’m Patroclus,” and he should’ve known better than to say his full name to a two-year-old (he thinks) child.

“Oh, hi, Patok!” Patroclus tries to hide his grimace.

That was even worse than any nickname Brie has called him. Much definitely worse.

Achilles doesn’t hold back his laughter and he tries so hard to hold his.

But, soon, the room is full of full-blown laughter and confused grunts, unspoken apologies and declarations of _I missed you_ were exchanged through the meeting of the eyes.

Deidamia enters the room with her arms crossed. “Neo!” and the laughter died down, “Oh, you stubborn child, I told you to go to Nanny.”

She sighs and picks Neo up. Patroclus stands as fast as Achilles would.

Deidamia greets him briefly, “Nice to see you again, Patroclus.”

“You too, Deidamia.”

Deidamia smiles and adjusts Neo in her hold to make him comfortable. “You and Achilles can now spend time with each other,” she and Achilles share pointed glances, “This little mister is getting a bath.”

The moment she leaves the room, Patroclus jumps in Achilles’ willing arms.

He’s made himself wait too long for this.

Achilles’ muscular arms wrap around his waist and he tiptoes to wrap his around Achilles’ neck; his face, as it always would, buried in his chest while Achilles’ buried in his crown of hair.

They basked in the warmth they haven’t felt since their last embrace.

Only now does Patroclus comprehends how much he missed Achilles; his face, his arms, his neck, his hugs, his scent and everything about him.

Oh, why does he desire to inflict pain on himself and on Achilles?

He still remembers the sleepless nights in his apartment in Nice; all he can hear is Achilles’ fading voice urging him to run away, all he can see is Achilles cradling him in his arms gently, all he can smell is Achilles’ familiar earthy scent. Those nights, all he is, all he feels, is of Achilles. His mind is flooded at the sudden wave of thoughts about him that he thought he has locked in forever. His chest is filled with emotions he swore to never fall to again. The worst was, _he craved for those nights_. He craved for Achilles.

After six, long years, his pathetic ass still wanted Achilles—Achilles who is happy with his own family, his own wife, his own son.

He could’ve had that with another one but his heart still refused to. He couldn’t risk it again.

Not again.

They didn’t need to say _I miss you_ to each other for it was already said through their eager touches.

“Achilles,” it almost feels foreign when his name leaves his lips, so, he says it again, “Achilles.”

“Patroclus,” and he says it with the same breathlessness, the same precision, and the same affection, “Patroclus.”

And, he thinks, he could spend a lifetime hearing Achilles utter his name the way he always did.

Only their names they have uttered yet a thousand words have already been spoken between their two souls. Patroclus hears Achilles’ questions in the single utterance of his name. He answers it in a mere breath of Achilles’ name. For they were Achilles and Patroclus and their love for each other went deeper than words could ever be.

Sometimes, Patroclus wondered if Achilles missed him as much as he missed Achilles. Did he lay sleepless in his bed, trying to find out why Patroclus left so sudden and without a farewell? Did he wish for Patroclus to come back here in New York, to come back to him? Did he miss Patroclus’ warmth? Did he even miss Patroclus?

Achilles, as if sensing his sudden wave of questions, breathes his name as a dragon breathes fire. “Patroclus,” and suddenly his questions are answered by comfort.

He is the first one to utter a word other than their names.

“Neo is adorable,” he comments fondly, “He looks just like you.”

Achilles smiles. “Yeah, he _is_ my son,” and Patroclus could already see the witty comeback coming, “He’s _supposed_ to look like me.”

“Well, aren’t you the comedian?” Patroclus breaks away and rolls his eyes at Achilles.

Achilles stares at him oddly and Patroclus fears he’s said something wrong.

“You…” and Patroclus wishes that Achilles would just finish his statement, “You have an accent.”

_Oh._

“I—I never really noticed,” he dumbly responds.

“’Course you didn’t,” Achilles says, situating himself on the couch, “You never notice anything.”

Patroclus isn’t sure whether Achilles meant that as a mockery. His tone is too light yet his words are accusing.

He hesitantly sits besides Achilles. “Yeah, you too.”

Achilles snorts. “You’re the denser one out of the two of us,”

“What makes you say that?”

Those were the wrong words to say.

Achilles’ face clenches in anger as he shouts his words to Patroclus’ face. “What makes _me_ say _that_?” his tone is condescending and all Patroclus wanted to do was fly back to France, “You… you left without a goodbye, without a text, without a call! You left your family, you left your friends, and you left _me_! I’ve left you so many messages yet, up to this day, you still haven’t read them! I’ve left you thousands of missed calls! I’ve tried reaching you out so _many_ damn fucking times yet you have the nerve to come back here and act like nothing happened!”

His face is red with anger and Patroclus felt like he was about to explode.

He had faults, yes, but it was wrong of Achilles to act like he—

The excuse died in his throat and he believed every word Achilles yelled. He was a coward.

A coward.

“Yes, and I’m sorry for that, alright?” he shouts back with equal force, “I’m sorry that I left and cut you out from my life as if you were never a part of it. I _am_ sorry. But… but I did it for you, Achilles. I’ve always done everything for you. I studied for you, I graduated for you, and I worked for you! Every little and big thing that I’ve done here in Earth, you have always been the sole reason behind it. I wanted to reach out to you again, Achilles, but I couldn’t… not after I found out you had a child.”

His tone is desperate, pleading for forgiveness, while Achilles’ face is hard, concealing his emotions.

_He changed._

He tries again.

“I’m sorry, Achilles, I really am,” he pleads this time, “I’m here now. Doesn’t that matter more?”

“You…” and Patroclus almost cowers at his tone, “You are here now? You spend a few minutes with my son and wife and you think _you are here now_? You were never here the moment you abandoned me, Patroclus.”

Rather than with tenderness, Achilles spits out his name the way his parents did.

“And,” Achilles laughs bitterly and that sound echoes in Patroclus’ mind, “You say you did it for me? No, Patroclus, I do not think you did it for me. You did it for _yourself_! What, you were scared of facing your emotions? What, you were scared of seeing me with my wife? What, you were a coward? Patroclus, bear in your mind and engrave this in your heart, I will always _love_ you. I never stopped and I never will. Why did you choose to run away?”

“The same reason you chose Deidamia,” he answers.

Once again, it was the wrong thing to say.

“How _I_ chose Deidamia?” Achilles’s tone is disbelieving, “Patroclus, on my wedding day, I offered you to run away. You’re the one who made me choose her.”

Patroclus glares at Achilles, his self-control fading when Achilles brought life to those words. “How dare you!” he stands up from the couch, “You’re the one who confessed your love for me on your own wedding day! What kind of dick does that? And you even offered to run away! Hoo-rah! Let me remind you, Achilles, we do not live in a movie where we can just reshoot if we made a mistake. We live in the real life. We cannot just pack our things up and go!”

“Didn’t you, though?” Achilles stands up too, face-to-face with Patroclus, “Isn’t that what you did? Pack your things up and go? Isn’t that the exact fucking thing that you did? Because it sure does sound fucking familiar!”

Patroclus flinches at the truth of Achilles’ words.

“You tell me that we cannot just run away—” Achilles whispers this time and, somehow, this hurts far more than his yelling did, “—yet you did. You ran away from me.”

Guilt creeps into his heart as a worm creeps into an apple.

“You ran away from me,” this time, his tone is not condescending and angry, it is hurt, “But you cannot run away with me.”

Patroclus wishes he would just stop talking and return to the comfortability they shared with one another just a few moments ago.

“Achilles, that’s different,” he says.

“How?” Achilles whispers.

Patroclus has never seen him so broken before. He resists the urge to embrace him.

“You’re Achilles and I’m Patroclus,” he can already hear the question in Achilles’ head so he proceeds to answer it swiftly, “I don’t have anything here. You have your wife, your parents, your friends, and, now, your child.”

Achilles’ face consorts into pain. “Patroclus,” his whisper is like a gentle caress, “You will always have me. For now and forever.”

“Achilles,” he whispers too, “I’m sorry. I should have thought about you too.”

“And I am sorry about being so rash and harsh with my words,” Achilles apologizes, “You do not deserve any of them.”

They settle into a silence, fearing they would cause the other to burst up into flames once more. So, instead, they settle into a comfortable silence, unspoken whispers of affections are exchanged through the meeting of their eyes.

And, through the meeting of their eyes, they declare _I love you._

**viii.**

He is forty-one when he realizes that, even in death, he will love Achilles Pelides.

The skies are bright in color and the pale clouds are solemn. The animals speak in their own wordless language and the flowers dance with the wind.

It is a good day today, he thinks.

He is laying in his bed and only the sole window on his right provides him a view of the beautiful, untouched Earth.

The sun is bright, as it always is. The sky is a vivid blue. The clouds are pale. The trees are standing strong. The leaves let the graceful wind guide them. The flowers are in their blooming season.

Everything is beautiful.

But nothing could compare to the sight of Achilles Pelides in front of him.

His room’s door is brutally burst open and Patroclus feels almost sympathetic for the abuse of the nonliving. Achilles Pelides stands in front of him, a beard now gracing his features, and he stares at Patroclus with indescribable pain. Achilles walks to him and Patroclus feels every step he walks, every breath he breathes, and all his senses, once more, all of his senses are of Achilles.

Achilles is gentler than he has ever been.

He sits on the chair right next to his bed and trails his features with his hand as if savoring the last of him.

He starts with his forehead and Patroclus almost shivers when Achilles pressed down a kiss on his temple. He moves to his nose and, this time, he isn’t surprised when Achilles graces the tip of his nose down with a brief peck. He moves to right cheek and then the left, bearing each of a kiss. He gently caresses his lips and leaves it be.

Achilles stares at him.

“My Patroclus,” he says it and it never fails to take Patroclus’ breath away, “Why did you not tell me?”

“I did not want to worry you,” and his voice is weak, especially in his own ears.

Achilles chuckles and brushes Patroclus’ hair to the side. “You will always worry me, no matter what,” and Patroclus feels like that is already a declaration of goodbye.

He wills himself not to cry. Not in front of Achilles.

That is too cruel.

“Has your parents visited?” Achilles worriedly asks.

“I don’t want them to,” Patroclus answers.

“Good. Me too.”

They stare at each other, devouring the sight of each other as it will be the very last.

Patroclus promises to remember Achilles’ unruly, long hair now trimmed into a tamed hairstyle. He promises to remember Achilles’ haunting blue-green eyes that he wishes he could stare at forever. He promises to remember Achilles’ aristocratic nose that he wishes to kiss. He promises to remember Achilles’ pale red lips that he wishes to feel. Patroclus promises to himself to remember everything of Achilles because, even in death, he will always be with him.

He promises to remember the way Achilles looked at him, the way Achilles uttered his name with precision and breathlessness, the way Achilles holds him in their embraces, the way Achilles _chose_ him, over and over again. No matter what, no matter why.

Achilles always chose him and, even in death, so will Patroclus.

The silence is broken by a sob.

It is Achilles’ sob that rips his heart into two.

Neither of them deserves this.

He cries freely and he does not try to hide it. He caresses Patroclus’ face.

“I don’t want you to leave me,” and, to others, it may seem childish but, to him, it is all he could ever wish for, “Why must you leave? Why… why can’t you stay, love?”

He has never called him that before and his voice breaks as he does so.

Patroclus leans into Achilles’ touch. “I wish that I could,” and he means it, “But I cannot. This is life, ‘Chilles, we live and we die. I am completing the third purpose of my life.”

Achilles smiles but his smile is broken.

“What is your first?”

“My first is—” Patroclus traces Achilles’ beard, “—to love you. That is why I am here, ‘Chilles. I am here to love you and I think that is the purpose I have filled with no hesitation.”

He brushes away a tear that has fallen from Achilles’s eyes.

“My second is to live,” Patroclus whispers brokenly, “But I am sure that is everyone’s first.”

“My third is to die,” and Achilles can only smile at him, “That, I am completing.”

“You don’t have to,” Achilles manages, “I don’t want you to.”

Patroclus bursts into sobs, unable to control his emotions any longer. _He_ was gonna leave Achilles and he would never have the chance to love him again. He would never have the chance to bask in his warm embrace as Achilles whispers sweet nothing to his ears. He would never have the chance to feel Achilles’ love through his vivid gazes and bigger actions. He would never feel Achilles once he passes. He would never have the chance to love Achilles as he does now.

“I-I have to,” he tries to keep his voice steady, “Cheating death is a tedious task.”

“Yeah,” Achilles manages to laugh and that sound Patroclus will keep in his heart forever, “Yeah, it is.”

“Do you remember what you said to me during you wedding day?”

“I said many things,” Achilles remarks, smiling fondly.

“You said _in another life, I would choose you,_ ” Achilles smiles at the endearing yet tragic memory, “But I don’t think you need another life to choose me… because, over and over, like a loop, you always choose me. You chose me over the cool kids you could’ve became friends with, you chose me over the popular teenagers you could’ve hung out with, and you chose me even in the day of your commitment to another soul. You always chose me, Achilles, and please—please, forgive me if I did not always choose you. I’m—I’m sorry, my love.”

Achilles puts a finger to his lips, “You always chose me, Patroclus, and you know that. You always chose me as I always chose you.”

“In another life, if we meet again, I will still choose you,” Patroclus declares, “And in every life we meet. It will always be you that I choose, Achilles.”

“Even if I have acne all over me or if my hair is greasy?”

“Even more than that.”

That’s when Patroclus feels it. His soul is slowly drifting away from his body.

_No, please no, let me have this with him. Please._

“I will sing you a song,” Achilles whispers. Patroclus does not have the strength to respond.

“ _You are my sunshine, my only sunshine,_ ”

Achilles’ voice is gentle and sweet. Patroclus decides he loves it.

“ _You make me happy, when skies are gray,_ ”

He remembers whenever Achilles came to his defense when his parents went too far. He remembers when Achilles would lay by him under the night sky after a day with his parents. He remembers Achilles’ smile that brightened up his day without fail.

“ _You'll never know dear, how much I love you,_ ”

He knows because he loves Achilles as much as Achilles did to him.

He remembers the way Achilles gently touches his face as if he were a fragile teacup. He remembers the way Achilles holds him under a tight embrace with the fear of losing one another. He remembers how Achilles graces his temple with undeserved kisses. He remembers how Achilles will always choose him.

He and Achilles are lost in each other’s gazes, an eternity stretching out between them. It is quaint and peaceful as he drowns out in his and Achilles’ love. They do not move, speak, or kiss yet a thousand words spill out over the intensity of their stares.

They have spoken enough.

“ _Please don’t take my sunshine away,_ ”

His soul is leaving his body and his body fights his soul to stay.

Patroclus cups Achilles’s face with tenderness. “Achilles,” he croaks out, “I will always choose you. Even in death.”

The moment is broken by the sudden alarm of the machine beside them: Patroclus’ heart rate monitor where his heartbeat moves up and down… it straightens to a line. Patroclus’ arms limp and he feels Achilles grip onto him the moment his soul has broken free of his body.

_Even in death, my Achilles._

**Author's Note:**

> this story was meant to depict the cruelty of pining and the tragedy of "might have beens" and, well, patroclus and achilles' relationship. i found that achilles and patroclus really suited each other even though their personalities clashed and that thought was really endearing so i had to make a story about it,,,, so here we are!
> 
> tell me ur thoughts below :]


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